


Caress

by Smirkdoctor (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 10:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Smirkdoctor
Summary: Greg Lestrade is forced to use the body wash his ex-wife left behind, and he endures a hell of a day because of it. At least there's a reward for him at the end.





	Caress

Greg Lestrade stood up from turning on the shower, stretching his work-sore muscles. Patting his slightly protuberant abdomen, he arched his back and gave himself a sidelong, disapproving glance in the mirror above his sink. As the looking glass began to fog over with the heat of shower steam, he blew out the breath he was holding, let his shoulders hunch, and climbed into the tub.

Yesterday had been a hell of a day. He’d been working with (scratch that-- _ chasing after _ ) bloody Sherlock Holmes in a race to stop a counterfeiter who had taken to murdering his associates when he sensed the Yard was onto them. And as usual, Holmes had flounced off into the night (Watson following closely, eyes fixed firmly on Sherlock’s arse) as soon as the suspect was cornered, leaving Greg to clean up and complete paperwork.

He’d fallen into bed around 2am, caught four hours of sleep, and was now showering to head in for what he hoped would be a calmer day. London crime, or at least cases in his division, seemed to come in waves, and the last three weeks had been incredibly busy. He hadn’t had a day off in that time, and the piles of laundry, stack of unopened mail, and empty refrigerator showed it.

Greg hummed a bit as he turned to let the warm water pound at his shoulders. Maybe this evening would allow him some time to go to market, pick up the essentials. He could even have Mycroft Holmes over for a drink. He smiled and felt blood drop south as he thought about their last evening together. It was a new thing, still, but ending up with a lapful of the Ice Man in a private room of the Diogenes Club had a way of giving a fellow hope for the future.

He reached for his bottle of combo shower gel/shampoo and felt the lightness as he picked it up. “Oh  _ fuck _ me.” Shaking aggressively produced little more than bubbles at the spout, and Greg continued to curse as he stepped, dripping, onto his bathmat and crouched to look for a spare bottle in the cabinet beneath his sink.

He shoved aside toilet cleaner and an old shaving kit, shivering as drops of water splashed to the ground around him. He was about to hop back in and just scrub down with water when a tall bottle along the back wall caught his eye. He grabbed at it and sighed as he recognized the Caress body wash that his ex-wife favored. He didn’t remember shoving it into this cabinet, but a lot of the days after she left and he swept the apartment of any reminder of her presence was blanked out by regret and alcohol.

He stood and flipped the cap open, reading the label then sniffing to test the fragrance advertised as “Tahitian Renewal.”  _ Not bad _ . So it was back into the shower and back to the happy tune he hummed as he cleaned himself and thought about a well-deserved evening in.

 

*~*~*~*

 

By the time he reached his apartment door at the end of the day, shopping in hand, Greg had encountered so much ribbing about his new scent that he never wanted to smell sandalwood or vanilla again. Sherlock had immediately pieced together his morning, pausing in the middle of his account of the previous day’s case to chastise Greg for not knowing that Jenny was having an affair with her masseuse/yoga coach by her selection of bath product scent. And all during the embarrassing denouement, John had sat back, small smile on his lips, awe and admiration in his eyes. Really, the two of them were disgusting sometimes.

Greg fended off random jabs from the likes of Sally Donovan (“You’re looking radiant and refreshed today, sir. Did you  _ treat yo’ self _ ?”) and Stephen Dimmock (“Finally gone the way of the poofs after hanging around Holmes and Watson, have you?”-- that one he reported to the Superintendent) the rest of the day and so felt no guilt at leaving promptly at five. He made his way to the shops, glancing furtively around the aisles for anyone who might be sniffing--and judging--him.

Finally, at 6:45, he had arrived home. He went to put his key in the lock and his door opened without resistance. He felt a beat of concern before smelling a delicious combination of chicken, rosemary, and onion. He strode quietly to his kitchen and leaned against the doorframe, watching Mycroft Holmes in a gingham-checked apron (another item  _ she _ had left behind) stepping confidently around his kitchen before bending to take a roast pan out of the oven.

“I’d recognize that arse anywhere,” Greg purred, and Mycroft deposited the pan on the cooktop before turning with a smile.

“I heard from Dr. Watson that it was both a late night and early morning for you. And I hadn’t heard from you since…” He trailed off with a vague hand gesture, a slight blush painting his cheeks as he undoubtedly recalled their not-so-professional meeting at his Club. Mycroft cleared his throat and dropped his eyes, then traced them slowly back up Greg’s body, stopping on his face with an uncharacteristically open expression of longing.

“Oh, Myc, don’t think my absence was any statement about  _ you _ .” Greg set his bags on the counter and circled his arms around the other man’s waist. He skimmed his lips along Mycroft’s smooth jaw (the man never had a hint of stubble and Greg suddenly wanted to keep him distracted long enough to let some accumulate) but paused in his amorous exploration as he realized Mycroft had burrowed into his open collar and was taking deep, intentional inhalations.

“Mycroft Holmes. Are you... _ sniffing _ me?”

Mycroft pulled his head back and Greg gasped, seeing the dilated-pupil, slightly wild gaze of lust on his face. 

“ _ Gregory _.” Mycroft’s voice was much lower, and a bit rough before he swallowed. “You normally smell quite nice, especially with the scent of a day’s exertion laid over that ridiculous soap you use. But  _ this… _ ” he leaned down, nose nearly touching the juncture of Greg’s neck and shoulder, and breathed in deeply. Then he  _ whimpered _ . “If you always smelled like this, you could take me to bed and I’d never leave.”

Greg smiled and began backing toward his bedroom, pulling Mycroft along by the apron. “Well, if that’s your offer, I think we can call an end to negotiations.”

 

*~*~*~*

 

The next morning, Greg rolled out of bed carefully, trying not to wake his bedmate. He started a pot of coffee then headed toward the shower to clean off the remains of the day-- and night-- that had accumulated on his body. He had his new Irish Spring body wash at the ready, but paused, cap open, before closing it and placing it back on the shelf and reaching for the Caress.

After all, when Mycroft Holmes wanted something, he had a way of getting it.

**Author's Note:**

> It's Merinda's fault. Or rather, the fault of her autocorrect, because she told us, gleefully, that her "caress fic" was posted. And then this happened.
> 
> Now head on over to Janto321’s Sweet Caress for the explicit stuff...

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sweet Caress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15885039) by [janto321 (FaceofMer)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321)




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